Chapter 2: The Blood Contract
833 Words
The world blurred. Light spun. The altar vanished. When Vivienne opened her eyes, she was standing in a vast hall of black marble and candlelight.
Gargoyles loomed from the ceiling. A long table stretched across the room, but no food, no guests. Just darkness and dust.
The Duke stood at the far end, now clothed in a dark velvet coat. He did not smile.
“You have signed the contract,” he said. “It is sealed. From this moment, your fate is bound to mine.”
Vivienne lifted her chin. “What does that mean?”
“It means you live,” he said, stepping closer, his boots echoing on stone. “It means you will stay here, in my castle. You will share my name, my home... and one day, perhaps, my curse.”
“I want answers,” she said.
“And you shall have them,” he replied. “But everything in its time.”
He motioned, and the room shifted. The marble floor shimmered, transforming into black crystal. Reflections danced beneath her feet—images of war, fire, and a throne of bones.
“This was once a kingdom,” he said. “My kingdom. Until I fell. Until they sealed me beneath the altar where you stood.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because I loved,” he said simply.
He looked down at her. “And because the one I loved betrayed me.”
Vivienne’s breath caught. Her chest tightened.
He raised a hand, brushing her cheek—not tenderly, but deliberately. “You bear her soul. Her mark. That is why you were chosen.”
“That can’t be true.”
“It is.”
She turned away, trembling. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“No one ever does,” he said. “But now, you are the Duchess of Night. Until the contract breaks, or fate is rewritten.”
A door opened. A pale maid entered, eyes downcast.
“Show her to her chambers,” he said.
Vivienne turned back to him. “What is your name?”
He paused.
“Lucien D’Arven.”
She committed it to memory. The name of the devil she had married.
The hallway outside was colder, even though torches lined every wall. The maid, no older than sixteen, didn’t speak. Vivienne followed, clutching the side of her torn gown.
Every hallway seemed endless. The architecture was twisted—spirals where stairs should be, mirrored walls that reflected not their forms, but different versions of them.
“What is this place?” Vivienne asked.
The maid whispered, “Midnight Keep is alive. It shifts.”
Vivienne stopped. “Alive?”
The girl only bowed. “Lady Vivienne, your chambers.”
The door creaked open to reveal a suite more luxurious than anything Vivienne had ever seen—crimson velvet curtains, silver-edged mirrors, a fireplace carved with dragons. And yet... it felt cold. Not in temperature. In presence.
On the bed lay a dress of deep violet, fine as mist, with matching slippers. A note beside it, penned in elegant script:
Wear this. Tonight, the contract must be bound.
— L
She stared at the message. Her stomach twisted.
Later, bathed and dressed, Vivienne stood before the mirror. She barely recognized herself. The dress hugged her form like shadows; her hair fell in soft curls around her face. Her eyes—green, glowing faintly under the candlelight—were no longer just hers.
She was no longer just Vivienne Hartwell.
A knock at the door. Not the maid this time.
Lucien.
He entered without waiting, gaze sweeping over her. “You are ready.”
She didn’t speak.
He extended a hand. “Walk with me.”
Down another hall, through a spiral stair, until they reached a door made of black glass. It slid open without touch.
Inside: a circular chamber of runes and ash. Candles floated in midair. At the center—an obsidian altar, much like the one in the forest.
Lucien turned to her. “This is the Binding Room.”
Vivienne crossed her arms. “What happens here?”
He stepped into the circle. “A blood oath. To complete the contract.”
“And if I refuse?”
“The contract remains... unstable. And so do you.”
She laughed bitterly. “So I lose either way.”
Lucien approached. He took her hand. “Not lose. Change.”
With a blade of crystal, he cut his palm. Then handed it to her.
Her fingers closed around the hilt. She looked into his eyes. Then cut her own.
Their blood met, sizzling on the altar. The room pulsed. Wind screamed. The runes blazed red.
Vivienne fell to her knees as pain seared through her spine. Visions poured into her—battles, betrayals, a woman with her face laughing as a king burned.
Lucien fell beside her, growling.
The ritual was complete.
The Scarlet Contract... was now sealed in soul.
To be continued...
- Writer
